


Judy Blume's Tasty Brains

by anonymous_sibyl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: apocalyptothon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-27
Updated: 2007-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_sibyl/pseuds/anonymous_sibyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never should have taught Sammy to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judy Blume's Tasty Brains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mcee).



> Written for [](http://mcee.livejournal.com/profile)[**mcee**](http://mcee.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://community.livejournal.com/apocalyptothon/profile)[**apocalyptothon**](http://community.livejournal.com/apocalyptothon/). Request was: "Sam and Dean on the road, having survived a zombie apocalypse. Would like: looting, H/C, angsty comfort sex (if wincest; gen is fine). The grittier the better." Huge thanks to [](http://annavtree.livejournal.com/profile)[**annavtree**](http://annavtree.livejournal.com/) and [](http://alixnoorchis.livejournal.com/profile)[**alixnoorchis**](http://alixnoorchis.livejournal.com/) for the beta.
> 
> This work is licensed under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/). None of the media or characters written about in my fanfiction belong to me and I make no profit from these works. 

"I will shut you down if you eat my brains." Dean used a spare t-shirt to wipe the gore from his arms, dragging the cotton material through blood and spatter. "I mean it, Sammy. Just one lick on my forehead and you're gone."

"One: Zombies don't eat brains. Two: You don't have any. I really think I'm the one in danger here."

"Oh, right, what with your big tasty brains and all."

"Yes." Sam slapped the grimy t-shirt out of the way when Dean snapped it at him. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Earth to Sammy." Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Have you suddenly forgotten who I am? Those brains of yours failing?" He put his hand on Sam's neck and pushed his head forward. "Don't see any zombies nibbling away back there."

"Knock it off."

"Aw, whatsamatter, little brother? Jealous that the last zombie tried to take a bite out of me and ignored you?" He cuffed Sam on the back of the head and stuck a finger his brother's ear before releasing him. "A little zombie envy?"

Sam scowled at him. "Do you have to make everything dirty?"

Dean picked up the fallen t-shirt and folded it, carefully enclosing the worst of the gore inside. When he finished he reached behind and placed it on the back seat, next to the jugs of water and the remnants of the first aid kit. He would have liked to have kept it far away from their only water and bandages, but there was nothing in this car that was clean or sterile, including its driver and passenger.

"I could use a shower," he said.

"What?"

"Shower. You know," Dean gestured rudely with his right hand. "Where you used to jerk off as a teenager?"

"Jesus, Dean. You're disgusting."

"What, did I do it with the wrong hand?" He crossed his left in front of his body and thrust it up and down. "Lefty? Or are you one of those guys who likes to use both hands?"

"Oh my god." Sam turned his face away and stared out the window, deliberately ignoring any reflections he could see. Dean's creative masturbatory gestures were far more than a man should be asked to endure after being attacked by zombies. "Just drive."

 

There was no shower, because there was no indoor plumbing, because the zombies had destroyed everything they couldn't eat, and because most of the people who used to work for East Bumfuck Water and Power were now shambling down the road a few miles back. Except for that one chick who left a few bits of herself caught under the Impala's chassis.

"She was gross, man." Dean pulled at the yellow sweater caught on the fender. "All oozy and shit."

"She was someone's daughter."

"They're all someone's daughter," he said, straightening up. "Or someone's mom or someone's girlfriend, or someone's something we don't have, and who the hell cares because mostly they're all zombies who want to eat us."

"Me," Sam stubbornly insisted. "My brains."

"Yeah, and my fine ass," Dean said, rubbing his hand over the body part in question. "I swear that chick took a bite out of me."

Sam froze where he was at the trunk. "Dean…"

"Dude. What, do you want to check?"

"We don't know how it spreads, Dean. If you're kidding, it isn't funny. If you aren't, you may be infected."

"And then what? You gonna cut my ass off? Leave me here just in case?" He dropped his hands to his belt. "Or are you gonna kill me, Sammy?" He lowered his jeans and turned around, presenting to his brother a lily-white ass, free of all bites and teethmarks. "See? Smooth as a baby's. Damn, Sammy, it was a joke."

"A bad one." Sam's voice was muffled as he dug in the trunk. "After Bobby…"

Aw, fuck. "Look, man. I'm sorry."

"Whatever." Sam shut the trunk. "We need more laundry detergent. We could always use water, and I'd like to try to find a pharmacy."

"I really am sorry."

"Just pull up your pants."

 

Dean insisted upon pushing the cart, bracing one foot on the bar and using the other to build up speed until he could lift both from the floor and skate along. "Looting is cool. Especially in a warehouse store."

"You really have no morals at all, do you?"

"Morals, shmorals." He crashed the cart into the shelving. "Dude! Beer!"

"Which we do not need." Sam laced his fingers through the metal cart and tugged. "Food. Water. Necessities. Things we need to survive, Dean."

"Beer."

"Oh, for…" Sam swallowed his curse. "Fine. Get the beer. While you're at it get some vodka or something that we could use for, say, treating wounds or starting fires."

Dean paused with his hands on the beer. "You make a good point there, zombie bait. Fires are very, very important when fighting zombies." He put the case of beer down and lifted one of vodka. "Also vodka gets me drunk faster."

"Yes, wonderful. You snore when you drink, Dean, and if you keep me awake one more night I'm going to offer myself to the zombies."

Dean rammed him with the cart. "Keep it up and _I'm_ going to offer you to the zombies." He raised his voice. "Tasty brains here. Scored super high on the SATs. Went to Staaaaaaanford. Come and get him!"

Something fell in the distance and they both froze. "I swear to god, Dean, if you seriously just attracted a zombie then I am going to kill you."

 

"I cannot believe you killed that thing with a lunchmeat slicer." Dean slapped Sam on the back. "Little brother, you are the MAN." He grimaced and looked thoughtful. "Took forever, though. Just cutting and cutting, and little bits of its head getting shaved off, and cutting and more cutting, and…"

"Dude!"

"Oh come on." Dean shook his head and water droplets flew off, way better than the zombie chunks that had come off him earlier. "You killed a zombie, saved the day, and you still managed to remember to get soap so that we could have a nice bath in this lake. I even let you go first. Totally the man, Sammy."

"Shut up and do our laundry."

Dean dragged a Spongebob Squarepants beach towel across his body, tying it around his waist as a sarong when he was sufficiently dry. "Why me?"

"The man does not do laundry." Dirt puffed up when the laundry bag landed next to Dean's feet. "Also you are way more disgusting and smelly than I, and I'm really sick of scrubbing your underwear."

"That's a lie! I don't wear underwear!"

 

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"No, you shut up." Sam rolled over and pillowed his head on his arm. "Just snuggle down under your nice, new Strawberry Shortcake comforter and go to sleep."

"How come I have to have the pink comforter?" Dean huffed as he bumped his hip on the steering wheel. "Ouch."

"Because I'm the man." Sam squeezed his eyes shut so he couldn't see out the passenger window. There was nothing to see right now, but ever since the day he'd woken up to a zombie kid slobbering on the glass he preferred not to take any chances. "You know, if you'd sleep in the back seat you'd have more room."

"I'd also have to wait for you to drive if we're attacked and that ain't happening."

"I can drive, you know."

"Without the internet to tell you where you're going? No you can't."

"Like it matters," Sam mumbled. "It isn't as if there's anywhere left to go. Nowhere safe anyway."

"Sammy." Dean breathed out and for a moment Sam thought he'd fallen asleep. "I'm sorry, man."

Sam pushed Dean's hand off his shoulder. "Whatever. Not your fault, Dean."

"Not yours either."

"No," Sam dragged the word out. "But we're supposed to help. We used to help. Now all we do is kill people."

"Not people," Dean insisted. "Look, Samantha, we aren't going to cuddle or anything, but I'm trying to make you feel better."

He rolled over, hiding his smile. "It's not fair that I have an easily feminized name and you don't."

"You can take it up with our parents someday." Dean whacked Sam's shoulder. "Gimme a little help, here, Sam. I'm no good at this."

"Deenie."

"What?"

"I think I'm going to call you Deenie."

"You are such a little bitch."

"No, I'm the man."

"Whatever, Samantha."

Sam stretched his arms as far as he could above his head and yawned. "Goodnight, Deenie." He turned his head to the side and whispered into the seat. "And thank you."


End file.
